Seeing Everything

Preface

     I wonder if fate intended for me to be this  way. Is there some godly reason I've never been able to see anyone or anything my entire life? We are supposedly the only planet in existence that can sustain human life. There are two theories on how this came to be. One; there was an exact series of chemical reactions that had to take place for us to be standing here today. Now that's a comforting thought, everything has it's purpose... Two; the theory of randomness, that everything is simply coincidence that  the human race came to be.

     What do I believe? ... Shit happens. We are all lost toys that are forced to go through our own randomized paths of personal suffering. There is no reason for all of us to be wasting our time. Yet out of all the billions of suffering people who are blessed with five senses, I am one of the few that sight has skipped over. I suffer virtually alone in a world of nothingness.

     I want to be able to know what the hell someone's talking about when they say, "Oh, we should go inside, it's getting dark out." I'll never know what what brown, red, green, or gold is like. In a world of colors, I see a pit of emptiness. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and see if I'm able to discover just a hint of bravery or triumph reflected in my eyes. I want to be able to prove- not only to all those who second-guess me, or feel bad for me- but to myself, that I'm more than meets the eye.  I'm more than just a scared little girl, banging on her closet downs, trying to get out.

     I am seventeen years old and I have never seen a sunset. My mother once said, "Don't worry your pretty little head, for a sunset isn't meant to be the end, but a promise for tomorrow." I'll never feel that hope, I'll never see the shining, shimmering promise of a new day. I'll never be able to get a drivr's license. I don't have the opportunity to be a "typical teen" and spend a day shopping at the mall or going to the movies with my friends.  

     When I was but fourteen I experienced my entire life being played out before me. I will continue to reside in the house of my parents until they either die, or become too frail themselves to care for me. They will dictate what I eat, where I go, and what I do. They aren't only raising me, they own me. I am stuck with listening to their near-constant bickering, with my father's drunken rampages, with my mother's frequent absences due to her two jobs... I am stuck with nothing. I may be lucky enough to have a place to call home, but I am still alone inside of it... When the time comes I will be living in some god-for-saken nursing home, sleeping in a stale, quiet, sterilized room, living off of whatever is decided to be spooned into my mouth each and every day. I will never get to do something on my own. I have no control over my life; no option to make something of myself; no choice, and no purpose.

     There was a knock on the door. I was home alone. I sat up from my reclined position on the couch in the living room. After contemplating the situation for a moment, I finally rose to answer the door. Worst-case-scenario it was a psychotic serial killer who was heartless enough to shoot a blind girl down on her very own doorstep. As my feet carried my body across the warm, fuzzy, shag carpeting of the family room, onto the cool hard-wood of the hallway, my mind began to wander in wonder... Would I be able to see in the heavens? Was there a wonderful, beautiful adventure, filled with angels and spirits waiting somewhere for me in the afterlife? I have nothing to live for down here. After all, what's the point of living if we're all going to die someday? Especially when I have even LESS to live for? I suddenly found myself secretly hoping for a quick, easy, breathless end as my hand turned to cool brass knob. I pulled the door opened, exposing myself to whatever lay beyond the threshold of the cage that the prisoner inside me wallowed in. At first only silence accompanied me... I waited...

     "You can not see me." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement, as if to point out my constant lack of connection to the world.

     "No. I do not," I replied, all emotion sucked from my voice. My dull, uncaring demeanor was nothing new nor specially created for this visitor, I became emotionally detached a long time ago.

     "I am known as 'The Messenger.' Surely, by now you have realized that there is not much left for you, but to waited on and led around by people, you have no choice, but to trust. If you come with me, I can, not only grant you sight, but powers beyond your wildest dreams..." His words hung in the air. The voice in which he spoke was sharp and soft at the same time. It was like running my hand across old, deteriorated leather. My ears picked up every crack and bump in his words, drinking in the sweetness, like honey dripping into warm tea...

     If a tree fall in a forest and no one's around does it make a sound? My intuition says "no." If no one's around then the sound that would've been made was never perceived. No matter which way you spin it,, perception is reality. It shapes and becomes part of what you are. I have been old I have beautiful red hair. I have never known what red is like and I have long since given up imagining. What is beauty? It is said that beauty is in the eye of he beholder, however, just like that lonely tree, I've never perceived it. Beauty has never existed.

     I finally had a choice today. I could choose between seeing nothing, and seeing everything... I held out my hand.